I open the door to the suite I'm staying in, leaving Taylor standing in the hallway, on the phone to his daughter. She's sick, as far as I can tell, and he's worried. I have to mentally remind myself that Taylor doesn't just exist to follow me around and do my errands.

I dump my purchases on the bed, glancing down at the carrier bag with Clayton's emblem scrawled across the front. For the first time in a long time, I'm utterly confounded by a woman. Should I call her? I've only been away from the store for a couple of hours - she's going to think I'm crazy. I snort in amusement. If only she knew ... Which reminds me.

I lift my cell phone and call Flynn. He answers on the second ring.

"Christian?"

"Hey, John. I need to cancel tonight's appointment. I've been caught up with something." Like a woman who I'm hoping is going to let me fuck her into submission. Jesus. If Flynn knew I'd gotten Welch to track her down, and then chased after her, he'd be locking me up in a psychiatric hospital.

He pauses only briefly, but I can hear his smile through the phone. "Nothing bad, I hope. No problem, Christian. Just call me when you want to reschedule." I agree to do just that, but I'm barely off the phone for a second, when it rings again.

It's Elliot, my big brother. He's all jovial and excited about some football game he's watching, and I can't help but think of how different we are. Yes, we're both adopted, and therefore there's no genetic similarities between us. But even so, growing up in the same house, with the same ethos, and yet ... we're so very different.

He didn't have the fucked up childhood that I had, I think sourly. Wow, it's been a while since I've thought of her. The crack whore.

"So, where are you?" he asks me out-of-the-blue, jerking me from my wayward thoughts.

"Portland."

"What the fuck are you doing in Portland?"

"Business."

He's quiet for a moment. "We could go fishing?"

"Did you miss the part about me being in Portland?" I ask dryly. I lift my eyes to the door as Taylor enters quietly, nodding reassuringly. He seems more positive - things with his daughter must be okay.

"I could come down? Come on, Bro. When was the last time we done something together? You barely ever come over for family dinners. Mia said if you're not there when she comes home next week, she's going to cut off your balls."

"Are you repeating her verbatim?"

"Yes." I nod and laugh. That does sound like something Mia would say. I look at the Claytons bag once more, and frown. Chances are, if Anastasia decides she does want any sort of photoshoot from me, she's hardly going to decide overnight. Having Elliot visit could be a good way to waste some time waiting for her to call. If she decides to call. I push away the errant thought, and sigh.

"Okay. I'm staying at the Heathman. Call me when you land, and I'll get Taylor to pick you up."

"You got it." He hangs up and I place the phone on the bedside table, getting up to walk towards the window. Portland is very beautiful. Quieter than Seattle. I don't know if I could stay here permanently, but it's a welcome detour from GEH and boardrooms, and Olivia, or whatever the fuck her name is, and her unbelievably annoying presence.

I'm fresh out the shower when my cell phone rings once again. I've sent Taylor on some more errands, and I've ordered room service. I've contracts to look over and write up, but my heart's really not in the work.

"Grey," I answer boredly. I'm expecting Andrea. Or someone who's wanting to discuss work.

"Err ... Mr. Grey? It's Anastasia Steele," is what I receive instead. She sounds nervous and quiet, and uncertain, and the sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. She called? I'm mildly surprised, but pleased.

"Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you," I reply. I hear her breathing hitch, and my grin gets wider. I knew I affected her. Well, it's time to reel her in.

"Err ... we'd like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, Sir?" I close my eyes as her delicious voice, uttering the simple word, 'Sir' reaches my ears. For someone who's not actually a submissive, she's already doing a damn well good job at it.

"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine-thirty tomorrow morning?"

"Okay, we'll see you there." She sounds a few octaves higher, and breathy. I stick my tongue between my teeth. She's stroking my ego. Though it's not my ego that's feeling the effects.

"I look forward to it, Miss Steele," I finish. She hangs up, and I beam. I don't think I've smiled this widely in a long time. She's just made my night. And it's with a lighter heart that I turn to the contracts laid out across my desk.

It's a little before nine when I return from my morning run. I jump in the shower quickly, deciding on some toast and an omelet for my breakfast, regardless of how nervous I am to be seeing Miss Steele again, so quickly. I feel like a teenager, my hormones racing all over the place, and it annoys me just how much of a reaction she has on me.

Nobody else makes my heart race this much, I think idly, as I wander down the corridor where the photo-shoot is being held. I try to picture her from the store yesterday, but the anticipation of seeing her now, is too much, and my mind draws a blank.

"Jose! Will you watch those cables! The last thing we need is for him to break his neck!"

I enter the room, scanning the area quickly. A tall, slim, young lady is standing in the centre of the room, issuing instructions to everyone. She's pretty, with long, strawberry-blonde hair that reaches right down past her behind. She's clearly the one in charge, I notice. Miss Kavanagh, perhaps? She has the same colourings as her father.

The man she's speaking with - or rather, shouting at - assesses me cooly. He's well-built, tan, with dark hair and dark eyes. He's handling the camera, and then there's his 'assistant'. I use the term loosely, because he doesn't look like he knows his ass from his elbow.

And there she is. She doesn't even notice me at first, and I take the brief moment to observe her, when she's not blushing furiously. She's wearing jeans again - shit. She looks damn good in jeans. Especially her ass. I'm never an ass man. And she's wearing some tight t-shirt with a band slogan on the front. Her long, dark hair is tucked beneath her ears as she bends to pick something up off the floor. And then she notices me, and the flush comes back, and once again, she's shell-shocked. It pleases me just how nervous she is around me. It's a good start.

"Miss Steele, we meet again," I extend my hand out to her first, and she takes it, her skin sliding against mine. I stifle the groan, and I feel the electricity reverberate in my groin. I'm only shaking her fucking hand! Her blush darkens, and she lowers her gaze to the floor. She feels it too?

"Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh," she mutters, turning to the pretty redhead I noticed first. Her reaction is completely different. She looks me straight in the eye as she shakes my hand firmly, and I'm suddenly very sure of who's calling the shots today.

"The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?" I enjoy my dig. She's pestered me for so long. But she doesn't falter, and I can't help but add another comment. "I trust you're feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week." She nods politely.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Grey," she replies firmly. She steps back, her eyes still assessing me, and I get the uneasy feeling she can see right through my plan for Miss Steele. I meet her gaze head on, unwilling to be sidetracked. My impassive gaze works, and she utters some thank you for agreeing to take part. Anastasia moves on towards the young boy.

"This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer," she states proudly, awarding him with a pat on the back. He smiles back at her, and I narrow my gaze. He fucking likes her! Is there no end to the list of admirers this girl has?

"Mr. Grey," he nods at me.

"Mr. Rodriguez," I return in the same tone. I watch his assistant move around, and decide to have a little fun. "Where would you like me?" Sometimes I enjoy patronising. Mr. Rodriguez looks as though he's put out by my question, but Miss Kavanagh steps between us, proving me right and taking the lead.

"Mr. Grey - if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables," she shoots a glare in Jose's direction, and the thought passes briefly that I could learn to like her, "And then we'll do a few standing too."

The photoshoot isn't too long. I sit for a while, switching seats and directions and poses. I reluctantly admit that I underestimated the boys talent, as I see the photos flash up on the computer behind him. He's good. Several times throughout the process, I catch Anastasia looking at me. Sometimes it's just a quick glance, and a frown. Other times, I catch her downright staring. Admiring me. I meet her gaze head on, and I feel the same crackle of electricity between us. There really is something about her...

By the time we're finished, I've already decided to ask her out for coffee. I have a couple of scheduled meetings, and fuck knows when Elliot's arriving, but it's nothing that can't be rearranged, or reorganised. I catch her in a brief moment of solitude, and she looks surprised when I ask. I thought I'd been a lot more obvious about my feelings - the thought distracts me.

"Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?" I ask. She bites her lip in that way that drives me crazy, and turns towards her friends, before nodding. We exit into the corridor, and I dismiss Taylor, who's looking expectantly at me for instruction. He begins to wander down the corridor away from us. I brace myself. "I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning?"

Her mouth actually drops open. And she just stares at me for what feels like an eternity, before she frowns. "I have to drive everyone home."

"Taylor!" I shout, not taking my eyes off her. Her frown deepens as my secondhand man turns around and begins to walk towards us. My vow to not treat him like a slave escapes my mind as he reaches us. "Please can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?"

"Certainly, Sir," he replies.

She flashes a look at Taylor and then turns to me again. "Um - Mr. Grey, err - this really ... look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home. I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

I grin at her and she looks momentarily side-tracked. Women that make an effort go a long way with me. I like people who try to please me. She's barely in there for five minutes before she returns, looking decidedly more confident.

"Okay, let's do coffee." I smile at her once more, and together we make our way down the corridor, away from the room, towards the elevators. She seems apprehensive again, and I turn to her, suddenly wanting to know more about the enigma standing beside me. This is why I suggested coffee after all.

"How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?" She smiles suddenly, and all the tension leaves her body. They must be close.

"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend."

I want to say how much she seems more like a mother hen, than a best friend, but I hold my tongue and make an non-committal noise. We reach the elevators and I press the call button. The doors open and we're left looking at a young couple, making out. Anastasia clears her throat awkwardly, her face scarlet, and the two of them - finally noticing us - jump apart guiltily.

Never has there been an elevator journey so awkward, as the four of us crowd into the space. I'm secretely glad that the elevator was already occupied. I don't think my precious control could've held on any longer, with her and me in a confined space. The doors open on our floor and we exit.

"What is it about elevators?" And I hardly realise I've uttered the words aloud.

The coffee shop isn't far from the hotel. On the several occasions I've travelled to Portland, it's always been my favourite. The staff are friendly, yet concise - and I've yet to receive something I didn't order. I like that it's never too busy in here. And the dark wood furnishings, and old paintings make me feel .. at home. I smile, thinking of our family home in Seattle where my parents still stay. Yes, it reminds me of home.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks," I suggest. "What would you like?"

She barely even pauses to consider it. "I'll have English Breakfast tea, bag out."

Tea? "No coffee?"

"I'm not keen on coffee." The thought brings a smile to my face. She still accepted my offer, regardless of the fact that she doesn't like coffee. She definitely likes me. In all honesty, I've yet to find a woman I couldn't charm - except for Mia who doesn't take my shit anymore. She just rolls her eyes, which amuses me. Even Elena falls for it occasionally. I, again, wonder what she'd make of Anastasia. Something tells me they wouldn't get on, and I can't put my finger on why.

"Anything to eat?"

"No, thank you." She turns to find a seat, and picks one by the window whilst I stand in the queue. The look I receive from the barista as I tell him about the tea, is a Kodak moment. I didn't think there was anyone in the entirety of Seattle who didn't drink coffee.

I take the tray to the table, to find her staring out the window, completely lost in thought. She's biting her lip again, and it sends my libido into overdrive. Why the fuck does she keep doing that? Is it on purpose?

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, to distract myself. I take a seat opposite her and our knees bump together. She blushes. Again. I hand over the tea and take my own muffin, pulling it apart. "Your thoughts?" I repeat, when she makes no move to speak.

"This is my favourite tea," she says softly, with a small smile. Something tells me that wasn't what she was going to say. She places the teabag into the water for barely a second, and then takes it out. She's so strange. I don't know why I like that.

"I like my tea black and weak," she tries to explain.

"I see. Is he your boyfriend?" Wait, what? Fuck. I said that out loud. I need to stop repeating my thoughts. She looks up at me, startled and confused.

"Who?"

I want to laugh. "The photographer. Jose Rodriguez."

"No." The relief I feel shocks me. "Jose's a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

"The way you smiled at him, and he at you."

"He's more like family," she states simply. I feel the relief wash over me again. Well, that's that then. You don't fuck family. I think of yesterday, at Claytons.

"And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?"

She shakes her head once again, and I know I'm making things awkward. She seems unsure as to where this is going. "No. Paul's just a friend. I told you yesterday." Did she? When? "Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around men," I reply, and I must admit, I'm pleased with how quickly I conjure up that lie. She squirms in her seat, uncomfortable.

"I find you intimidating."

I take a deep breath. Well, that sums me up pretty accurately, I'd say. I like that I intimidate her. It sets the tone for the future. "You should find me intimidating. You're very honest." She looks down into her tea, and I frown. How can I tell what she's thinking if I can't see her expression? "Please don't look down. I like to see your face." Obediantly, she raises her head and looks at me. She seems uncertain. "It gives me some sort of clue as to what you might be thinking," I continue on. "You're a mystery, Miss Steele."

This shocks her. "There's nothing mysterious about me."

"I think you're very self-contained." She furrows her brow, as though this concept is completely new to her. "Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about." I've barely finished my sentence when he face turns the colour of a beetroot. I smile.

"Do you always make such personal observations?" She sounds vaguely irritated. Or maybe just curious.

"I hadn't realised I was. Have I offended you?" Shit. I've done something wrong already. I don't know where to step around her. She's completely new territory for me. But she shakes her head and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Good."

"But you're very high-handed."

I am? Yes. I guess so. I feel mildly ashamed of how I've spoken to her, and try to explain without sounding like a pompous ass. "I'm used to getting my own way, Anastasia. In all things."

"I don't doubt it. Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" She looks as though she wants to kick herself for her own question, but doesn't retract it. I consider her question. Anyone who calls me 'Christian' knows me. They know my story, they know my past. Anyways, how am I supposed to exert my power?

"The only people who use my given name are my family, and a few close friends. That's the way I like it," I explain. It's a half-truth. Or a half-lie. Whatever. I don't know her and I don't owe her any explanation. She waits a moment and then she looks annoyed. I'm guessing it wasn't the answer she wanted, but I don't want her to dwell on this. Plus, she won't be calling me Christian when I'm fucking her, will she? She'll be all 'yes Sir' or 'no Sir' or 'please Sir'. I want to move her off this conversation.

"Are you an only child?"

I know the answer already, but it's a welcoming distraction. Unfortunately, she's using one-word answers.

"Tell me about your parents," I try again.

"My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband, Bob. My stepdad lives in Montesano."

"Your father?"

"My father died when I was a baby." Oh, shit! How did I forget that? I want to kick myself, but she doesn't look offended or hurt. "I don't remember him," she explains.

"And your mother remarried?" She snorts derisively.

"You could say that." I want to groan. She's infuriating. This would be easier if she decided to say more than one sentence at a time. The more I know, the more she can learn to trust me. The closer I get to fucking her. It's that simple.

"You're not giving much away, are you?"

"Neither are you."

What does she want to know about me? Hasn't she already asked enough questions? I recall her acute embarrassment as she asked me if I was gay. "You've interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then."

She looks horrified. But it does the trick, and she begins to speak. "My mom is wonderful. She's an incurable romantic. She's currently on her fourth husband." I obediantly raise my eyebrow. I know this already. "I miss her," she carries on. "She has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don't go as planned." For the first time, I see her really smile. She's got small, perfectly-straight, white teeth. Her voice soothes me; I don't want her to stop talking.

"Do you get along with your stepfather?"

"Of course. I grew up with him. He's the only father I know." She obviously has a soft spot in her heart for him, and I think this might be the key to her opening up.

"What's he like?"

"Ray? He's ... taciturn." Or, maybe not. She either really doesn't like talking about herself, or I make her feel really uncomfortable.

"That's it?" She says nothing. "Taciturn like his step-daughter."

"He likes soccer - European soccer especially - and bowling, and fly-fishing, and making furniture. He's a carpenter. Ex-army."

"You lived with him?"

"Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray." Why would she choose staying with her step-father than staying with her mother? It doesn't make sense to me, considering how fondly she spoke of her mother, and considering that her and her step-father are not even blood-related. I broach the question out loud and she blushes again.

"Husband Number Three lived in Texas. My home was Montesano And ... you know, my mom was newly-married." She trails off, but she looks pensieve. There's something about this third husband, I can tell. I want to press her, but I don't want to scare her off. She obviously felt uncomfortable around him, and the thought cools my blood. Suddenly, she sits up straight and fixes me with a determined look.

"Tell me about your parents."

I should've expected this, I realise. After all, she's inquisitive. I try to play it off. I don't want her to get too close. "My dad's a lawyer, my mom's a paeditrician. They live in Seattle." There. That's vague enough. There's hundreds of lawyers and paeditrician's in Seattle.

"What do your siblings do?"

"Elliot's in construction, and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." Working for some asshole, I want to add, but I don't.

"I hear Paris is lovely," she murmurs, and the tone of her voice catches my attention. She looks dreamily out of the window, as if the Eiffle Tower is sitting right there in the parking lot.

I nod in agreement. "It's beautiful. Have you been?"

She shakes her head sadly. "I've never left mainland USA." I don't know why this surprises me, but it does. I'm thrown by how badly I want to take her there, just to see the look of wonder on her face. She casts her eyes down once more.

"Would you like to go?"

"To Paris?" I nod. "Of course, but it's England that I'd really like to visit."

"Because?"

"It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books." Ah yes, her love of English literature. I briefly recall her saying that at my interview. The hearts and flowers shit. Her bringing it up, makes me realise just how much I'm taking away from her. She deserves to be with someone who can give her all that crap. Who can love her like her heroines. Who can take her to Paris, and England, and wherever the hell else she wants to go, and that someone isn't me. She bewilders me, and astounds me, and I'm more than positive I've never felt such a deep connection with anyone so suddenly, but I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm looking for someone who will ask 'how high?' when I tell them to jump.

She glances at her watch suddenly. "I'd better go. I have to study."

"For your exams?"

"Yes. They start Tuesday."

"Where's Miss Kavanagh's car?"

"In the hotel parking lot."

"I'll walk you back." I mentally castigate myself - again. I just can't leave her alone, can I?

We exit the coffee shop, and I take her hand, enjoying how it feels in mine. She's quiet, thinking something through, it would seem.

"Do you always wear jeans?" I ask, glancing down at her legs. She frowns, but shrugs.

"Mostly."

Good. I like her in jeans. She looks relaxed and casual, but still hot as hell. I think if she were mine, I'd make her wear jeans all the time. She seems even more confused suddenly.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

The question is so surprising that I stop in the middle of the street and gaze down at her. She looks mortified at having voiced the question aloud, and I can't help but smile.

"No, Anastasia. I don't do the girlfriend thing."

This confuses her more. I want to explain myself, but I can't. If I do, she'll run for the hills. Hell, she'll probably run for the hills anyway, but at least if she does - I can get her to sign an NDA and she can't tell a soul. I'm so tied up in my own world that I barely register that she's walking away from me, until I notice the bike to her left.

"Shit, Ana!" Everything happens in slow motion. I pull on her arm, and she falls backwards into me, completely oblivious until the cyclist scoots past. He's so close, and the goddamn wanker is going the wrong way up the street. It's too late when I realise just how intimately and close I'm holding her, and that she's gazing up at me, completely in shock.